XV
The activities of Lady Rossiter did not altogether cease at her conversation with Alderman Bellew.
She spoke to Miss Farmer, at the back of her mind the conviction that Miss Farmer would think it due to the other members of the College staff to ascertain whether their attention had yet been focussed upon the incipient scandal in their midst.
She made tentative beginning:
"You will reassure me, Miss Farmer, and I can't tell you how glad I shall be. It is my fancy, isn't it, that there is—what shall I call it?—something that rather disturbs—in the atmosphere?"
"The—College, do you mean, Lady Rossiter?" Miss Farmer spoke confusedly, evidently quite undecided in her mind as to Lady Rossiter's meaning, and anxious not to commit herself until she had ascertained it.
"Ah, then you do know. I'm sorry," spoke Edna gravely. "One condemns no one—that's understood, of course. But you, who are working there all day and every day—you must know better than anyone how far it's all gone. I mean nothing that can't be spoken—oh, yes, you know—after all, we're both women. But there's the staff to think of—my staff that I'm proud of, and care for. Tell me, do they talk about Miss Marchrose and this insane infatuation of hers?"
"No—no, I don't think so—I hardly know...." hesitated Miss Farmer, very red, and obviously feeling her way.
"Thank God for that!" Lady Rossiter piously interjected. "You understand what I mean? It's not that I, of all people, who know Mark Easter intimately, could ever underrate the fact that he is an unusually attractive man. But then, you see—Mark is married. It's so simple, isn't it, to those of us who can see straight? There is just that choice—right or wrong—and one's chosen one's path long, long ago. But this poor girl in whom we're interested, whom one longs, oh, so pitifully and tenderly—to help. You see, I'm afraid that her ideals are poor, dwarfed, stunted things. She is very foolish, undignified and unwomanly, but I pray and I believe—I try with all my heart to believe—that it is just that—because she knows no better. Only, Miss Farmer—don't let them talk at the College. I know it's very easy—a little staying on after hours, an excuse or two for going into Mr. Easter's office, a hundred-and-one indiscretions of that kind—and the mischief's done."
"Oh, Lady Rossiter! but really, excuse me if I say that I hardly think——"